Pitching a Fit
by MadgeM
Summary: Minerva is not pleased... and Albus bears the brunt of it.


Disclaimer: They're not mine, though I love to play with them...

Reviews are always appreciated!

Minerva didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

Here she was, a grown woman of seventy-four- standing outside the doors of her own classroom, as nervous as a tittering first year muggle-born Hufflepuff.

"Where's that Gryffindor courage when you need it? Everything will be just as it always has been, and there's nothing on earth wrong with me; except that I'm standing out in the corridor talking to myself" she muttered, smoothing the front of her robes. She shot an annoyed look at her walking stick, as if it were to blame for all of her troubles, and transfigured it into a pocket-watch, which she promptly slipped into her pocket. "Right, then."

She swept through the doors, noting with satisfaction that the batch first year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were perfectly silent, and looked around at the new faces. For the first time in nearly thirty years, Minerva hadn't been the one to administer the Sorting; Poppy had objected, saying that she simply wasn't well enough yet to handle the stairs and all the standing, and Albus (barmy old codger that he was) had agreed with the meddlesome know-it-all. Minerva had come away quite ruffled, and had tried her best to remind the two of them- _however_ well intentioned they were- that this was her job, that she had done it every day for the past thirty-nine years, and that she would be doing it regularly again beginning with classes on Monday. The task had gone to Vector instead, when Severus had refused, and Minerva had watched with a feeling of discomfort that had left her feeling unsure of herself for the first time in years.

She hated feeling this way, and resented that discomfort had lodged itself so insistently inside her chest, chastising herself as she reached her desk at the head of the room.

_I'm Minerva McGonagall, head of Gryffindor and unafraid of nonsense. Stop being ridiculous; you've no reason to feel unsure of yourself now, you've done this for thirty-nine years. Stand up straight and do what you do best._

She was gratified to see that she hadn't revealed any signs of weakness; if she had, the look of attention reflected in thirty pairs of young eyes would have betrayed it. She cleared her throat with satisfaction, comforted by the knowledge that she hadn't lost her touch.

"Good morning, class. I am Professor McGonagall, and unless I'm very much mistaken," her eyebrow arched, informing the class that this would be a rare occasion indeed," this is to be your first lesson in Transfiguration." She paused, surveying the class, and swept right along briskly. "Transfiguration is the most dangerous and precise area of magic that you will be learning. Any fooling about will send you straight out that door, and you will not return to my class." Her voice remained even and no-nonsense, and she picked a parchment up off of her table, and put on her glasses. "No matter who you are or what your previous experiences have been, if you are to succeed in this class you must do your work contientiously; I expect to see such behavior from each of you. Now, when I call your name, you will raise your hand so that I can see you. Alman, Ethan."

A small mousy-looking boy raised his hand, and smiled shyly as she made eye contact with him. She gave the faintest of smiles before she turned back to the list, and wondered for an instant that nothing seemed to have changed from year to year.

The thought was somehow reassuring.

When the last of the students had filed out of the classroom, Minerva flicked her wrist toward the blackboard eraser and let her wand hand drop down to her side, arcing her back in discomfort. She'd been standing for the past hour and a half, and was feeling stiff and sore.

"First day back on the job, pacing on two feet all morning, and I'm sore as stunned Pixie," she muttered with a shake of her head.

With a small _pop_ she changed into tabby form, and began to stretch properly; she arched her back and meowed discontentedly, unaware of being observed from the door.

"Ah, there you are, my dear."

The owner of the voice moved quickly to where Minerva was crouched on all fours, and was not surprised in the least when the cat gave him an annoyed glance and became once again his Deputy.

"Of course I'm here, Albus. It's eleven a.m. Where else would I be?" She was still testy about the incident with Poppy, and was not feeling particularly inclined to humor the man. "What is it you wanted?"

Albus frowned, observing the stiff way that she held herself.

"First things first, Minerva. You look a little stiff. Perhaps you ought to go see Poppy about a Pepper-Up potion?" he suggested, taking in her obvious displeasure.

She knew that Albus's concern was sincere, but wasn't having any of it. Besides, what business was it of his if she _did_ feel as though she had been run over by a heard of hippogryffs? The last thing she wanted to see was the inside decor of another infirmary.

Her lips pursed.

"I'm feeling perfectly well, and I'll thank you to not concern yourself with the supposed state of my health. I'm not as young as I used to be, and neither are you, Albus Dumbledore." She narrowed her eyes for emphasis, and pointed a long finger in his direction with a sniff. "Now, I have twenty-three minutes before a troop of thirteen year olds come through that door, and I've got a lesson to prepare for."

Dumbledore smiled benignly.

"That would be- what, the first time in sixty years that you aren't prepared ahead of time? I'd wager that you set out everything early this morning, before you came down to breakfast; I know you better than that." He covered her outstretched hand with his own, and brought it gently down between them, eyes betraying the chastised look on his face with a twinkle. "And as for not concerning myself with the health of my best friend, you know I can't do that. Your well-being is important to me," he told her, "and to the smooth running of this school. We can't have an incapacitated Deputy Headmistress- who else would have the nerve to call me a barmy old codger in staff meetings?"

"I've never called you that in front of the staff!" she retorted indignantly.

"Well, perhaps you've only said it in private- but I don't need to be a Legillimens to know when you're thinking it during staff meetings," he said reasonably, eyes twinkling.

She sighed. _Damn the old man anyway._ Why did he get to be right so often?

"That crackpot getting-to-know-you Valentine nonsense is barmy, Albus, and I'm not the only member of the staff who thinks so," she retorted defensively.

"Ah, yes. Severus," his voice was merry, and he felt justified in his merry mood. Who could have predicted that this little meeting with Minerva would go so well? She was speaking to him- an improvement over the night of the feast, when she had simply nodded and answered in monosyllables- and she had not cut the conversation short. The Headmaster had the impulse to squeeze her hand, but thought the better of it- he didn't want to press his luck too far, after all. "It continually surprises me that you and Severus aren't better friends. Two such intelligent and independent individuals, full of such life and dedication to your professions."

He peered innocently over his half-moon glasses at her, pleased to see her expression soften.

"Flatterer." She couldn't stay angry with him for long, not when his twinkle was on. "Don't think that you're going to get off so easily with me."

Albus could tell when she was giving a token argument, and smiled.

"I wouldn't dream of calling you easy, my dear."

"Clever man." This time she smiled back at him. "So?"

"Pardon me?"

"So- what was it that you really wanted with me?" she pressed. "There was something, wasn't there?"

"Well, no, actually, nothing pressing." He tried not to flinch as her eyebrow rose in disbelief, knowing fully well that she wouldn't like his checking up on her one bit. "It's just that you looked rather tired at breakfast, and I wanted to see how you were doing. I... ahem... couldn't help but notice that your walking stick is no longer with you." He matched her stare more sternly this time, as Minerva felt a flush creeping up her face. She were fully aware that if Poppy were to find out she would not be pleased; she would barge straight down to Minerva's office, and threaten to relieve her of more of her duties for the next week. There would be a row, certainly, as Minerva had absolutely no intention of putting up with it. What Poppy did not know would not harm her, and she planned to keep it that way.

"It _is_ with me. I simply transfigure it when I don't need it." She held up the pocket-watch defiantly. "This is ridiculous; Poppy insists that I have it with me at all times, but I'm telling you, Albus, that I can walk perfectly well on my own."

"You should listen to Poppy," he countered. "She knows what's best for you."

"What's best for me? I seem to recall that being _my _business, and no one else's," she snapped. "I'm not an invalid, you know. I've had it with everyone treating me as though I'm going to fall apart at any momen-t- I was only stunned, for heaven's sake. I'm hardly a casualty of war."

"There were four stunners, Minerva! You were in the intensive care floor of St. Mungo's for several weeks!"

"I remember the stunners, and I remember St. Mungo's," A distinct Scottish brogue thickened around her words as her temper rose. "And I expressly do _not_ remember giving you permission to stick your nose into my affairs!"

"I have every right to be concerned- both as Headmaster and as your friend!"

"I'm fine!"

"You're not _fine_, and it is beyond me why you insist on pretending otherwise!"

"I'm healthy, Albus. Just _blooming_," she told him sarcastically. "I'll continue to do my duties, and I'll decide what's best for me- I certainly don't need you and Poppy frothing at the mouth at me about that ridiculous prop of a cane!"

"I've seen you lean on that stick when you think no one is looking, and I've seen you move painfully when you think there's no one around to see it! You can't expect us to take your word for it that you're invulnerable! For Merlin's sake, Minerva, I saw you lying unconscious and vulnerable on a sterile white bed!" His composure lost completely, Albus's voice raised. "Don't dismiss me like I'm one of your students, I'm your friend and someone who cares about you! _Don't you understand what your life means to me? _Not as Headmaster, not as a member of the Order, but as my dearest and closest companion- _I need you too much to risk losing you!_"

Minerva's mind had long since abandoned her normally calm and rational process of thought, and the intensity of his words did not impress her. His voice pounded in her head. She leaned in, her nose inches from his, ready to let him have it.

"I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS!" she hissed, turning on her heel with every intention of stalking out of the room and leaving him there sputtering.

He recovered more quickly than she expected.

"_Regressa forma!_' he bellowed, wand quivering.

The watch in her hand transformed immediately into the cumbersome walking stick. She halted, blood boiling, as his hand seized hers and a voice boomed in her ear.

"_Impossible- stubborn woman! What on earth do you think!_"

In an instant, Minerva spun around, raised the gnarled stick up high, and knocked him soundly on the crown of his head with the confounded thing.

For a moment they both just stared, Minerva's eyes gleaming like a cat with its claws out. The two stood there, frozen, both shocked; they had fought before, but never like this. _Never_ had it come to this.

Minerva blinked, the color draining from her face, anger melting, then turned her head slowly to look at the stick in her hand. Albus was the first to see the hilarity of the situation; his mouth twitched at the sight of her bewildered expression, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He tried to suppress a chuckle as she dropped stick to her side ruefully.

Minerva looked puzzled.

"Albus?"

He didn't answer, but began to laugh instead.

"Albus, I..." she faltered, feeling ridiculous.

"Your wrath is swift and mighty, my dear, and every bit as formidable as your namesake" he managed, letting out a giggle in between. "Look at us!"

His giggle proved to be contagious. "Can you imagine if one of the students had walked in on us shouting?"

"It would be all over the school within minutes."

"Or if Severus had come in to see a crackpot old fool being thwacked by his Deputy?" He rubbed his head with a grin.

She blushed at this, but couldn't stifle the chuckles building up.

"Or Poppy!" her lips quivered.

"They'd think we've lost our minds, for sure," he said gleefully.

"Speak for yourself. I'm the one who has to deal with the seventh year Slytherin-Gryffindor class for double Transfigurations directly after lunch. You may be growing senile, but _I_ certainly cannot afford to be," she retorted, sustaining a stern look in his direction for several seconds before both of them collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"Minerva McGonagall!" Poppy's voice called from the doorway.

Minerva raised her head from Albus's shoulder, and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, and disengaged herself from his arm.

Poppy marched down the aisle purposefully, and eyed her patient critically.

"Face flushed, having trouble breathing," she murmured to herself, placing two fingers firmly on Minerva's neck. "Pulse racing like a madman, too! I knew you'd go pushing yourself, Minerva, but I did think I would have at least a_ little_ help in not letting you go and over do it!" She glared at the Headmaster. "At least you're using your walking stick."

Just then, the first of the third years trickled in and found their seats in around the room.

"As you can see," Minerva drew herself up with dignity, pleased for the change in the room. "I have a class to teach. Perhaps we could save this for another time."

"Of course." Albus squeezed Minerva's hand, eyes twinkling once again, and began to lead Poppy out of the classroom. "Thank you for your invaluable assistance, Professor McGonagall. We can continue this over a game of chess, perhaps? Seven o'clock."

He disappeared out the door with a quick wink before she could respond.


End file.
